Syllables, a compound word, a title—nothing that means anything to her, though it is laced with something more underneath the common tongue. Still, it is the affordance of another name that let's Wanda see what is unknown as familiar. Ronan Lynch. The man from Thorne—the one that can dream things into the waking world.

Somehow, the connection makes sense, between this hungry entity and him.

—and there he is, no longer the shadows and the pulsing of blacks and purples, just Ronan.

"Ronan," because names have power, she insists on calling him by his own in form of greeting. Her hands lowered, no longer at the ready to use magic. "Are you yourself now?"

Granted, it's likely that him as the Greywaren is himself, too.